


The Lilac Brimmed with Dew

by Byacolate



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Children of Characters, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: Teldryn Sero escorts a very special little girl to her mother's shrine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A commission for [lesbiansportsanime](http://lesbiansportsanime.tumblr.com/) for her daughter of Boethiah, Silena. Thank you so much for the opportunity to write for your cute little girl!

The ash yam, fat in his palm, was still warm from the coals when he saw her bustling down the street. How could he not? She was a small thing, a child swathed in colors so vivid that Teldryn could only think of scant days spent prowling the Rift. They were colors rare enough for Morrowind, some as yet unseen by the eyes of the natives of Vos. This was so for her manner of dress, but not her eyes. Those eyes were as bright and honeyed orange as a paper lantern. 

 

Before Teldryn gave this strange child her due assessment, he glanced around the old trade post path. Teldryn would not call himself familiar with the people of Vos, and it would seem that they would not call themselves familiar with her. She wasn’t one of theirs, then. 

 

Curious. 

 

Teldryn pinched off a moderate chunk of yam and chewed on it as the child neared. Her manner of dress was audacious in every way, yet slung over her narrow shoulders was an old and worn rucksack. One look at her boots - fine, and fit for travel - showed wear and dust from the road. 

 

She did not appear as wanderers appeared, and he could scarcely believe she would be wandering alone. With clothes so fine, hair and nails so well kempt, she wouldn’t be an orphan. A runaway, perhaps? And one with extreme luck, to have come any distance without being accosted on the road.

 

He was so preoccupied with his own amusement that it took a moment for him to realize that he too was being observed. 

 

The steady patter of her boots on the path slowed to a stop as she came to stand before him. Her eyes were wide, starkly bright against her skin. Teldryn took another bite. 

 

“What is that?”

 

He chewed slowly, raising his eyebrows. “What is what.”

 

She blinked and stood a little straighter, pulling her heels together. “Excuse me, sir. What are you eating?”

 

She was a dunmer, wasn’t she? And a dunmer of Morrowind at that. “What do you mean? Are your eyes defunct?”

 

“No.” She looked at the ash yam with what seemed to be fair to decent vision. “I have never seen such a strange fruit before.”

 

“Strange fruit?” Now that his ears were piqued, the more she spoke, the more he heard a lilt to her voice. Posh, educated in her annunciation. She could be from one of the main houses. If she could not recognize an ash yam, she must be quite lofty indeed. But then what was she doing out here? “A dunmer should know an ash yam when she sees one.”

 

“I see.” She nodded as though this light chiding was instead a pearl of wisdom. “Well, then I suppose it is alright for me to be ignorant somewhat, for I am only somewhat dunmer.”

 

Teldryn Sero narrowed his eyes. 

 

“Never met a person quite so gregarious as you in Vos. Where do you hail from? Why are you here?”

 

“I’ve come all the way from the temple,” she stated with pride, sticking her nose in the air. “I am on my way to Skyrim to visit the house of my mother. Good day to you, elder! Please enjoy your yam of ash!”

 

Now, this was fun. And if she  _ were _ a scion of one of the great houses, perhaps it could even be lucrative fun. 

 

As she made her way down the road, Teldryn ignored the skeptical looks from the civilians on the path and cleared his throat. “Skyrim, you said?”

 

The young girl stopped and turned, only slightly burdened by the pack at her back. “To Skyrim, sir!”

 

“From the temple? The Church of Reclamations?”

 

“Indeed!”

 

“I see.” He took another bite. “Then it may interest you to know that you are going the wrong way.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Sailing across the Sea of Ghosts was never a great love of his, but Teldryn found it far more amusing with the tales young Silena could tell. Educated she was, but the art of captivating an audience was innate. It was a gift Teldryn did not have, but he could and did appreciate it in others when it suited him. 

 

Silena spared no ear tales of her mother, who could be none other than Boethiah. This pleased the sailors, who elbowed one another about what the great usurper might think of their captain.  

 

In his time, he has spared a prayer or two to Boethiah. Teldryn Sero would not call himself deceitful by nature, but there was a time and a place for everything. Especially deception. Perhaps if this was true, and Silena’s nature was of a daedric variety, this could be considered a pilgrimage. If it was nothing more than the delusions of adolescence, well. Teldryn had seen her coin purse. His pay would be more than worth a child’s fae tales.

 

Despite the siren call of her stories, sailors were a superstitious sort; once the tales of Oblivion began, all were scarce but Teldryn Sero. Truth be met, he did not care to hear those stories either. Where Silena was entranced, enthralled and beguiled, Teldryn could only feel an itch between his shoulder blades as though he were being watched by a thousand invisible eyes. 

 

His dreams did nothing to assuage this unease. The first night he had boarded the vessel to Solstheim en route to Windhelm, he had been visited in a dream. It was not the pleasant sort, nor a dream so vague and kind as to slip silently from his memory altogether.

 

A pair of hands with a voice like thunder run through a silken sieve had dragged him up from the depths of darkness. Even in the realm of dreams, he had been stunned into stiffness at the sight of them. 

 

Boethiah they claimed to be, and even now Teldryn believed that it was so. 

 

_“My child, in your care,”_ they had said, an aspect of a child cradled between them. _“What is mine is sacred. What is mine shall be delivered into my house unsullied. My wrath is swift and absolute, and a sword of mortal man would be wise to fear it.”_

 

A bell rung against his skull could not have been clearer.

 

So Teldryn listened to her croon praises toward the realms of all the great ones revered and reviled. As far as he could tell, there were but two realms she had no taste for. That was not to suggest that her distaste was spread in equal measure, or even that of a similar nature. 

 

Nocturnal’s Evergloam was a frightening span of darkness, and even Silena’s love of her could not withstand it. Such a love was not shared with Molag Bal or Coldharbour. Both, she warned with a deep, old stoicism, were terrible to behold, and best to be avoided.

 

Teldryn was unconcerned with such things, as he had no plans to gallivant through any daedric realms. But he nodded when he ought, slowly chewing on a loaf of bread to pass the time. 

 

When they reached Solstheim, Silena expressed delight the likes of which Teldryn had never seen when stepping foot upon the ashy coast. Her eyes were caught upon the mountains beyond, white with snow.

 

“Snow! That  _ is _ snow, is it not?”

 

Teldryn secured her pack over his back as they started off toward Raven Rock. “Your sight is keen enough after all.”

 

“Can we -” she began, her eyes alight. Teldryn knew exactly where this was going, and so he swiftly interrupted:

 

“If you like the look of those hills, then Skyrim will be a feast for your eyes.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

They carried on down the path to Raven Rock in silence for a whole of two minutes before he heard her open her mouth.

 

“Is it really as cold as they say?” she asked, so transfixed with the distant mountains that she caught her foot on a gnarled root. Teldryn clapped a hand on her shoulder to steady her. 

 

“It is cold indeed.”

 

“And is it soft?”

 

“It much depends.”

 

“Are there ash yams here too?”

 

He was growing used to the sudden and unanticipated changes in subject, so he carried on as normal. “Yes. In the soil.”

 

“May I go looking, just for a moment? If I find one, I would like to eat it.”

 

Teldryn fished a small wrapped loaf of bread from a pocket of her pack and handed it to her. “When you pull them from the ground, they are hard and unpleasant to eat. Wait until we reach Raven Rock.”

 

“Oh.” She sighed, observing the bread before her before tucking it away under her arm. Teldryn did not know how her robes remained so pristine. On such a dusty road. “Do they have ash yams in Raven Rock?”

 

“Aye, they do indeed.” Teldryn pulled out his helmet and fitted it snugly on his head. 

 

“And then we’ll go to Skyrim?”

 

“Promptly.”

 

She considered this for a moment. “Will there be snow nearby my mother’s house?”

 

Teldryn snorted to himself, clasping the helmet at his jaw. “In the Eastmarch? I’d say there’ll be a flake or two.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The boat from Solstheim to Windhelm arrived early, early in the morning, but it did not keep the wonder from Silena’s face when she stepped off onto the dock. Teldryn kept close, eying the dockhands as they go. 

 

“The moons,” she sighed, nearly catching her feet on a pile of rope. “They are so bright here. Does this mean we are close to my mother’s house?”

 

Teldryn glanced up. “We are close,” he admitted, “but this is just how the moons look here.”

 

“Is Skyrim closer to the sky? Is that why it’s called...?”

 

“Keep walking, don’t linger. I suppose that might be as reasonable a namesake as any.”

 

She sighed again, the foggy plumes of her breath carried away by the wind. “I really love my mother’s realm, you know? And I love those of my aunts, I truly do. But Teldryn, I think that this must be the closest to the heavens I have ever been.”

 

Teldryn thought of precisely what lay beyond the stone walls they followed now and quietly ground his teeth. “The heavens are still farther than the Sacellum. Come along, Silena. Rest tonight, snow tomorrow.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

The journey to the Sacellum of Boethiah would likely take to days on foot. Teldryn was not afforded the coin for horses - indeed, he did not think that Silena even considered it, so preoccupied was she in stomping through the snow. 

 

“Your boots will be soaked through,” he had warned from the path. “And your dress.”

 

She was bundled up in furs purchased from the grey quarter, but the hem of her dress poked out below like the warning beacon of a poisonous insect. Perhaps that was Boethiah’s intention. 

 

“It is so lovely,” she exclaimed through chattering teeth, trudging through to return to Teldryn’s side. Her cheeks were impossibly dark, and she sniffed, rubbing at her nose. “It looks as though the whole wide world is covered in sugar, Teldryn.”

 

“And perhaps it is. Did you taste it to see?”

 

She afforded him a skeptical look. “I know what snow is. It won’t taste sweet.”

 

“No?” He moved on further down the path east. “I suppose that one whose knowledge comes from books must know far more than one who has tasted snow himself.”

 

He heard her walking along behind him, and for a few long moments all was quiet between them. Only once did her steps hesitate. 

 

Teldryn smirked to himself when he heard her cries of betrayal and her footsteps rushing closer. “It’s just as I said! It isn’t sweet at all!”

 

“Oh, no? That’s hardly strange, is it? After all, it’s only snow.”

 

Plaintive, she tugged on his sleeve before she laughed, kicking up a dusting of white. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

Wolves were always accounted for in Skyrim, and easily dispatched. Even the odd sabre tooth can be cut down swiftly if one’s survival prowess is adequate. Teldryn had assumed from the beginning of their trip that the bulk of his true duties would be necessary in Skyrim.

 

What he had accounted for to a far diminished degree were the brigands. 

 

He had yet to find a country that did not have its highwaymen problem, but to find them so far from the busy roads in the depths of the Eastmarch really was too much.  

 

“You picked a bad time to get lost, friend!”

 

The sun had only risen a few hours earlier. Teldryn could spot two of them, stark against the snow. Either they were simpletons, or they did not care if they were seen. His hand was already on the pommel of his blade, a summoning spell in the other, when Silena stepped closer to his side. She looked at them and then at him, her face framed by the snow-laced fur hood of her coat.

 

Wolves and cats were one matter, but human life entirely another. 

 

Slowly lowering his hand from the sword at his back, Teldryn kept the building summons in his right palm facing away from their new friends.

 

“Nords truly are a tenacious lot,” he called out. Teldryn Sero was not in the business of appealing to the better nature of bandits, but never let it be said that he was inflexible. “We are so far from the main roads, and yet you persist even in the wilderness.”

 

The one further up the hill with the bow trained on him snickered, looking askance at his partner. “This one’s a chatty sort, Brogar.”

 

‘Brogar’, a wall of muscle with the girth of an ox, glared at Teldryn, a hammer half his weight clutched in both hands. “I don’t like talkers.”

 

“Brogar here doesn’t like talkers, understand?” Behind a tree, their negotiator grinned. Even from downhill, Teldryn could see his blackened gums and yellow teeth. “You seem a reasonable, stranger. Can see you’ve got a wee’un there.”

 

Behind his helmet, Teldryn made a face that belied his tone of diplomacy. “I think you will find that I am quite reasonable.”

 

Brogar huffed through his nose. His teeth were only in slightly better shape than his companion’s.

 

“‘Course you are. So why don’t we conduct ourselves all civil-like now. You hand over all your valuables - coin and weapons and the like - and perhaps I can talk good ole Brogar into letting you leave with your skin.”

 

Thick muscles bare, every flex of them could be seen when Brogar pointed the hammer in their direction with one arm. “Erik. Look at that what she got on.”

 

Erik of the bow could only seem to grow his smile. “Well well! My my! What a pretty little thing! Look at all them colors!”

 

Silena looked at Teldryn. She could hardly find whatever she was looking for with that helmet on, so perhaps she was taking her cues from his charade when she called out a hesitant, “Thank you kindly.”

 

“My, and polite as a whistle! You a learned girl?”

 

“I’m afraid we cannot divest ourselves of our goods,” Teldryn swiftly answered, and Silena looked back at him again. “However, it may please you to know that I will allow you to put your weapons away and leave this mountain alive if you simply choose to do so right this very moment.”

 

Brogar was beginning to look like a dragon with all of the steam pouring out of his nostrils.

 

“Oh!” Erik cackled, lifting his bow anew. “Thanking you kindly, but I do believe our wisest business venture could be the ransomin’ of that little mote there. Brogar!”

 

The behemoth started forward, quick as anything despite his size. Everything that happened after was nearly too quick to calculate.

 

Teldryn released an atronach and grabbed for his blade; the bowman let loose an arrow, calling out for his companion to leave the girl living; Brogar powering through the flash of fire singing his bare arm as he swung right at Teldryn, reached left for Silena.

 

And then there was the massive spectral snake. 

 

And Teldryn thought: This might as well happen.

 

When the literal and metaphorical smoke cleared, Teldryn wiped very little blood off of his blade as he watched the flickering, undulating giant viper twist itself around Silena before it absorbed itself back into her body. She looked down at the palms of her hands, clenching and unclenching her fingers.

 

“That was my mother. Sort of.”

 

“Oh?” Teldryn shoved his toe under Brogar’s shoulder to flip him face-down in the snow. There was no need for Silena to remember the corpse of that slack-jawed buffoon.

 

“Um, or rather, that was an aspect of my mother. Sometimes she protects me, when I need her.”

 

“I see.” Brogar’s hammer was too large and ungainly for him to carry, so he left it in the snow. Someone someday would surely come upon it here and use it for themselves, good or ill.

 

“I have never killed before,” she spoke to Teldryn, as though in confession. Seeing that her hands were nearly bare for how her gloves had fallen apart, he pulled off his own and handed them over.

 

“That is no surprise to me.”

 

He trudged through the snow to Erik’s fallen form and took his gloves for himself, thinking as he always did how funny a world it was where robbers were the easiest to rob.

 

There was an satchel of dried fruits and meats on him too, only barely touched, so Teldryn split an apple and half a hunk of dried horker with Silena as they traveled further up the mountain. 

 

“Are we close to the house of my mother?” she asked, sounding more tired now than he had ever heard her. Teldryn patted her head twice, and with the flick of his boot sent a spray of snow into the air before them. 

 

“Closer than we have ever been.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

It was yet early in the day, but the sky was growing dark.

 

Teldryn had seen his share of storms, but that was not the matter at hand. It could only be high noon, but it was the night sky growing and darkening above them. 

 

Even without the sky above and its ominous hue, it was impossible not to know precisely where they were headed. At the very top of the mountain stood a statue, a person risen from the coil and writhe of serpents, thrusting a blade in triumph toward the sky. Boethiah did nothing by halves.

 

Though keenly aware of the shuffling shadows looming behind the trees and stones of their ascent, Teldryn resolved himself to be prepared rather than concerned. He had anticipated cultists on the journey. What he was still trying to determine was whether or not they were non-hostile by nature, or if perhaps there was indeed something to Silena’s claims.

 

That last remaining suspension of disbelief was lost like his breath on the wind when a dunmeri woman descended from the stone statue to greet them.

 

“I am the priestess of Boethiah,” she said, with eyes only for Silena. She knelt once, a knee tapping the cold stone before she rose again. “My dear lady. We have been expecting you.”

 

Silena did her best to daintily rest one hand over the other before her, and only struggled a little due to the thickness of her coat. “You have my thanks. May I see my mother now?”

 

“Of course, venerated one.” She held out a hand, and Silena took it. It might be sweet if not for the corpses on pikes dotting the mountain behind her. Teldryn moved to follow slowly up the stairs. “And fret not for your sacrifice; we shall dispose of him in your stead.”  

 

Really now, he should have seen this coming. Teldryn counted no fewer than four spears pressed against his back, and one at the nape of his neck. He dared not reach for his blade, but perhaps he could summon his atronach with enough stealth to distract them -

 

“No! Stop, please!”

 

The priestess looked down at Silena in surprise.

 

“My apologies, good lady. You wished to make the sacrifice with your own hand?”

 

Silena furrowed her brow and pulled her hand away from the priestess’. “Teldryn Sero is not a sacrifice. He is my friend.”

 

Teldryn could practically see the sentence on the priestess’ tongue: What better sacrifice could there be? But she did not speak it, bowing low instead. “Forgive the error in my assumptions. Drop your blades.”

 

He let out a little breath when all the pressure at his back whispered away. Spine straight and without a backwards glance, Teldryn continued to ascend for a step or two before Silena caught his attention. It was she now who held out her hand to him. 

 

With her position on the stair, she had risen even taller than he, and smiled at him like he hadn’t almost been thrust upon a pike for her mother. “Come on, Teldryn. Let us go and say hello.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Approaching the towering statue of Boethiah was quite fitting as it filled Teldryn’s stomach with snakes. He was so taken by its imposing nature that he nearly startled at Silena’s pat at his calf. She was knelt on an old worn mat at her mother’s feet, and looking up at him. “Pray with me,” she entreated, resting the backs of her hands on her knees, palms toward the statue. That days-old dream in mind, he obliged, grunting as he squatted into an acceptable pose of supplication.

 

As he closed his eyes - not quite confident that he was going to open them alive - a low and powerful voice flooded his head. 

 

_ My child has been delivered, _ it thundered, pulsing at his innards,  _ stronger and wiser for the journey. It would seem that there are capable mortals among you after all. You shall receive your just reward as a token of my satisfaction.  _

 

Teldryn staunchly did not think to himself what a relief it would be to travel far and soon from any daedric shrines.

 

When he opened his eyes once more, it was to see Silena shuffling around the shrine as though she were searching for something. “You’re awake! Teldryn, my mother is so proud of me. She told me so herself.” Silena stared down at a pair of enormous blood red hearts on a platter and picked one up, observing it from all sides. “She said she was proud of me for taking my first steps, seeing more of the world than I ever have before. Oh, and she said to give you a reward for your loyalty.”

 

Digging her fingers into the ventricles, Silena pulled the daedric heart apart and fished something from the middle. She moved closer and placed the bloody ring in Teldryn’s palm. “This will protect you,” she advised, “from dangerous magic. It will keep you safe on your travels.”

 

Whether or not that was so, Teldryn could hardly refuse the gift, and with a nod slipped the ring into his pocket.

 

When she then handed him a sack of coin, he knew his job was finished. Teldryn lingered longer than he normally might, checking his supplies and sharpening his blade as Silena was doted on by the cultists and their priestess. She, however, had eyes only for her mother. 

 

When Teldryn finally stood beside her, looking down at her pale hair, he asked, “Do you know how you will return safely to your temple?”

 

“I will think about it later,” she sighed, resting her cheek against the stone of her mother’s feet. “I want to linger a while longer. But I will be alright, Teldryn. I will find my way. Thank you for coming with me.”

 

Forging his path down the stone steps, Teldryn paused only once to look back over his shoulder. She was a small girl surrounded by corpses, cultists, the Skyrim winter, and a dozen disembodied hearts. But he could not find it in himself to worry overmuch.

 

This daughter was safest at the feet of her mother.

**Author's Note:**

>  _The spring is fresh and fearless / And every leaf is new, / The world is brimmed with moonlight, / The lilac brimmed with dew._ \- Sara Teasdale
> 
>  
> 
> I'm writing a high fantasy comic about a wandering bard! [Check it out from the beginning HERE!](https://bardbouquet.tumblr.com/post/179195348759/a-dwarven-heirloom-a-blade-in-the-dark-and-a)
> 
>  
> 
> My Tumblr: [wardencommando](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).  
> Details about fic reque$t$ [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/post/175675914506)  
> 


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